Sundays are bittersweet: significant enough to become a trifle little thing as the day draws gradually to a close; idly enough to have the hours slowly wasted away by the sands of time.
In a few months, I will turn a quarter of a century old.
The seconds are ticking away; I am not quite ready for this yet.
It could be just a number, but somehow, it comes attached with a connotation of sorts – as if there are plenty of milestones and goals to be achieved; a reawakening deep within, a sudden icy-cold splash of water in the face.
Like 18 or 21, 25 is quite something else.
I feel like I am forgetting something that needs doing.
While I may have gotten away with a haircut charged at student price just last month, will my later years still allow me to be a kid at heart – or will I have to behave like a responsible single (… young?) adult female?
Which begs the question – how does one properly behave like a 25-year-old?
“Her heart is in the right place.”
Not sure where mine is. It may be there physically, beating away dub-a-dub to an intimate rhythm that only I will know. But beyond that, it seems constantly stuck in limbo between few parallel worlds – lovely fantasies, tempting what-ifs, dear FitzChivalry, worn and loveless, high-flying career, maybe-Sydney, a floppy-haired Keanu Reeves, what’s-next, sights and sounds, streaming green code, selected childhood memories, some desires and dreams…
Oh, and there is reality, too.